I really did. I did due diligence. I asked about his family’s attitudes about cheating. It concerned me that his sister broke up a marriage and that was acceptable to his family.
I thought because he had been cheated on, and told me how incredibly hurt he was, that he would never inflict that on anyone else, let alone me, whom he appeared to love so very much.
But. He was always needy. That seemed lovely to start with. So attentive. Missed me so much when we were apart. Adored me, my pregnant body. My post pregnant body. Loved my engorged, lactating breasts, helping himself to my breastmilk. Lingering over my body, my breasts throughout the years. I felt so very, very wanton, sexy, treasured, cherished, and valued.
It felt so very real.
It would last forever.
I was so very loved, and needed.
And you remind yourself, when desperately fighting the urge to stop the pain, permanently, that the wonderfulness of “them” is the honeymoon period, and the fact that they don’t actually permanently live together, they are effectively dating, albeit no doubt pretty much living together, despite having no mutual friends or long, deep history and understanding of each other’s backgrounds. And as Roger admitted many times to me, he and Leanne only lasted as boyfriend and girlfriend as long as they did 35 years ago, because they lived in different locations.
Conversely, we worked – mostly so beautifully – for three decades despite living and working together.
Love bombing is a huge tool he uses. Tenderness, humour, fucking smoking hot sex, to forge feelings of deep connection in the target of his latest affections. Constant messaging. Constant touch. Constant sex.
Still battling. Still fighting hard to stay. Bleeding xxx.